Monday, March 18, 2013
Everyone's Irish on March 17
This year, I had the funnest St. Patrick's day ever. I mean, how Irish can Lagos really get? I'll admit I did celebrate the day back home with a pint of Guinness; even a renounced Catholic like me knows to pay respects with the rest of the world. However, with that being said, there is absolutely no hedonic thrill in beer for me, which proves the good Sire Arthur Guinness had me in mind when he put his name on the malt bottles too. I therefore drink my beer un-fermented.
Well, St.Patrick's this year was different in more ways than one. With my soul uncontrolled by geography, I was miles and cultures away from Lagos, and I went celebrating with friends; a relatively diverse group of Africans, Asian and Americans of Irish descent.
With the winter cold giving way to the pleasant spring, the weather was warm and beautiful and were we glad to chuck our coats and boots for the skimpies; shorts, dresses, sandals. It was barely 2 p.m. and our host was mixing and serving up alcoholic drinks. Board games, Pizza boxes, crates of Blue Moons, Ginger Ale and Gin cocktails later, we were headed Downtown Athens.
Downtown, at the rooftop of the Georgia theatre, we had walked in on some guy's surprise birthday party. It was a party, I wanted cake and I didn't know the celebrant but I managed a hug from the birthday boy and a hat which had 'Happy Birthday 30' written on it. We made our way to a Vietnamese restaurant, and as we walked in, the waiter wished me a happy birthday. "She's 30 today," my crew cheered. By the time we were done with our meal, someone dimmed the lights and the restaurant staff actually came singing a birthday song and served me cake. So there I was celebrating my thirtieth birthday, only 3 and a quarter years early. Woozy and giggly, I was loving every moment.
There was a hookah bar, a taco shop and a Starbucks somewhere in the itinerary and our drinks were seemingly bottomless everywhere. The entire day was dictated by spontaneity, and in the spur of the moment, one of us wanted to go dancing and so we wound up at a club on Broad Street. Series of mojitos and other beverages later, we were on a stage doing the Harlem Shake (the Baauer one).
"Con Los Terroristas!" A member of our party starts staggering and that's our cue to exit. The guys are wasted, the girls are relatively sober, which meant we practically carried men to the car. Getting home and getting them out of the car was as dramatic as it was hilarious, but we made it. It so happened that all of our cellphones went dead right before the action, so we missed an excellent opportunity to make videos or even take pictures for future taunting. Talk about luck o' the Irish.
Photo credits: Google Images